


To Love and Be Loved

by La_Prima_Donna



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Javert Lives, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Seine, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valjean Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Prima_Donna/pseuds/La_Prima_Donna
Summary: Javert decides not to commit suicide after all that happened at the barricades. Instead, he does some thinking and sorting out of things and ultimately decides to take Valjean up on what he said — that if he survives the night, he can be found at number 55 Rue Plumet. Discussions ensue, though it turns out to be far from what Javert expected...





	To Love and Be Loved

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea to write this when I saw Les Misérables in January— I was watching the “A Heart Full of Love” scene and thought: what about this, but it’s Valvert? In fact, the story was called “A Heart Full of Valvert” until I finished it. So, that’s why this oneshot is OUTRAGEOUSLY fluffy. It’s not meant to be very realistic, but reminiscent of awkward young love. I hope you enjoy!

This was the address, right? 55 Rue Plumet. Javert remembered Valjean’s words clear as day, and yet he doubted himself. The house seemed far too regular to be Jean Valjean’s. But it was indeed the correct house– if he looked very closely, he could make out the number “55” in the moonlight. He approached the gate, his hands settling on the heavy iron bars. He would have to climb over it, it seemed— there was no other way. Before he could second guess his decision or tell himself he was too old to be climbing over fences, Javert scaled it. His long, gangly limbs were not as nimble as they used to be, now that he was an old man, but he managed it. He landed softly on the ground on the other side. Javert dusted himself off needlessly; there was not a speck of dirt on his clothes. Yet he wanted to be sure to look his best now. Javert gazed again upon the house, and at the door. 

Valjean had a daughter, didn’t he? Javert did not want to risk waking her. Knocking at the door would not be an option. Javert thought quickly— what could he do? His gaze shifted to the garden, obviously very well cared-for. A bunch of small pebbles lined the area… Javert grabbed a pebble from the garden, weighing it in his hand. It seemed large enough to make a passable amount of noise, but not so large it would cause damage to Valjean’s house. This seemed like a reasonably good plan.

He looked back at said house— there were two windows he could see, and both had balconies. One of them was slightly larger… that would be the master bedroom, wouldn’t it? Javert hoped his logic was sound– he took a breath, aimed, and chucked the pebble at the window. 

His rock hit the brick wall before falling to the ground with a clatter. The man cringed. He had missed his mark by a solid foot. Quite embarrassing. Grumbling, he bent over to pick up another pebble, determined to hit the window this time. If foolish young suitors could manage this, a respectable gentleman such as himself should have no issue.

He took a moment longer to aim this time, closing one eye to better focus on his target. He flung the pebble more forcefully, a little grunt of exertion escaping him. It hit the upper frame of the window and fell to the balcony with a quiet ‘thunk’.  _ Close enough,  _ he thought to himself. 

Javert stood still, waiting with baited breath, staring at that window and hoping for something to happen. Then, a couple moments later, the window opened and a sleepy, discombobulated Jean Valjean appeared, shuffling onto the balcony. Javert was very relieved. Not only had Javert guessed the correct window, but this was confirmation that Valjean was alive and well.

“Javert?” Valjean whisper-shouted. His silver bedhead shone in the moonlight, giving him a shimmering aura… Or a halo, perhaps. Yes, a halo… and his white nightgown would pass as his angel’s robes. 

Javert smiled a little. “Yes, Valjean. It’s me.”

“Have you come to arrest me?” Valjean asked.

The words ignited a flurry of emotions within Javert… Or rather, added to the already-present blizzard. “Lord, no,” Javert said, as if the mere suggestion was vile. “Believe me, I have thought about it. But I found I could not. The good in you far outweighs the evil.”

Valjean looked quizzical. “I… I don’t understand. This is quite the change of heart. Is this some kind of ruse?”

Javert’s brow creased and he shook his head. “No, not at all. I simply want to talk to you.”

Valjean gripped the metal railing of the balcony with his large, calloused hands. “Talk…?”

“Yes. I want to thank you for last night. And apologize to you for… everything.” 

Valjean leaned against the railing. “This is very uncharacteristic of you, Javert. I am inclined to believe that I am dreaming.”

Javert frowned. “I beg your pardon. There is no need to mock me.” 

Valjean smiled. “Ah, there is the Javert I know.”

Javert would have been more angry had he not realized in that moment that he had not seen Valjean smile— really smile— in over a decade. And had he ever missed it. Heat rose to his cheeks and he felt himself become liquid on the inside like a fine dessert. “I-I’m… I just wanted to say… Thank you for… For saving my life last night. You are… Not entirely bad, Jean Valjean. Which leads me to apologize. I am sorry for thinking the worst of you. For expecting you to kill me. And, of course, for chasing you for all these years.”

Valjean smiled wider. God above, his smile was beautiful. “I’m not entirely bad, eh? Well, then. That’s far, far better than I thought you’d ever think of me.”

“I never believed I’d think that of you either,” Javert admitted, “but now I do. I have come to understand you are more than just a criminal. You have good in you as well.”

“And what brought you to this?” Valjean asked, that smile still upon his face. 

“You spared my life last night. I realized that the man I had always believed you were would not have done that. Only a good man would save the life of the one who had made his entire life miserable.”

Valjean frowned, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again. “I cannot speak to you properly from here. Wait there; I’ll be down in a moment.” With that, Valjean retreated into his bedroom, closing the window behind him. 

For a short time, Javert was worried that Valjean wouldn’t come back out. He didn’t know why that crossed his mind, and he felt foolish for it when Valjean appeared a minute later at the door. The old man closed the door behind him and walked out into the front yard to meet Javert. 

“There. This is better,” he muttered, a little smile still on his lips.

God, he was so handsome. Just like he had always been— the man looked like everything Javert had ever found beautiful. And the thin nightgown he wore was translucent in the moonlight; it gave away the solid shape of Valjean’s body underneath. Javert almost whimpered in awe. 

Valjean must have noticed Javert’s stare because he awkwardly folded his arms in front of his body. “I am sorry that you must see me undressed…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I woke you from your sleep. I do not expect you to sleep in a full suit,” Javert said. 

Valjean smirked a little. “Very well.” He walked the rest of the distance towards Javert until he stood face-to-face with the other. “Now, I must tell you that you did not make my life miserable, and it was not some great feat of morality to spare your life. I never wished to kill you. Never.”

Right. Valjean hadn’t walked down here for Javert to admire him. They had a serious conversation to have. “I chased you down for your entire life. How is that not making it miserable?” 

“You were only ever doing your duty. I am a parole-breaking convict. In fact, it is your duty still to arrest me.”

“ _ Was _ ,” Javert corrected. “I resigned from the police today.”

Valjean was shocked. “Resigned…?! Why?”

“Because if I stayed an inspector, I would have to arrest you, and I refuse to do so. I considered suicide, but… I couldn’t die having never apologized to you. So I resigned.”

Valjean’s eyes widened. “You considered suicide?! Javert— that’s very serious! And all because of…” He trailed off. “Me?” he finished under his breath.

“Well, after someone I deemed evil let me live, the world as I knew it was shattered. I didn’t know how to go on…”

Valjean’s hands rose, reaching out as if for a moment he meant to touch Javert, but instead his hands turned to rake his fingers through his own hair. “Javert, I… I can't believe— I didn’t mean for you to feel that way! That was not my intention at all! If I’d’ve known… Well, I wouldn’t have let you die at the barricade, goodness no, but I wouldn’t have left you alone on that bridge. I would have done anything to keep you from… Dear God, Javert…” Valjean reached out again, this time settling his hands on Javert’s thin shoulders, very gently, very carefully, as if the other man were frail as glass. “Are you alright now?”

The contact made the younger man shiver, a hot flush creeping over his tan skin, climbing up his neck and over the collar of his shirt. “Yes.”

“You no longer wish to die?”

Javert felt he was dying anyway from the way Valjean was touching him. “No, I do not.”

Valjean smiled a tiny bit. “Good.” He was silent then, and he let his hands slide down Javert’s arms, his eyes following. Those warm hands settled loosely around Javert’s thin wrists. “I want to help you, Javert. I have always wanted to.” He looked back up again, studying Javert’s face better than he’d been able to in many years. “I have long wished to be close to you.”

Javert, heart racing, raised his eyebrows. “Close to me…?”

Valjean nodded. “I have, though it has always been impossible.”

“Why on Earth would you want to be close to me?” 

Valjean shrugged. “I… like you. Very much.” The old man looked away, and Javert wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked suspiciously like he was blushing under his beard. An answering blush darkened Javert’s cheeks. 

“Why? How am I likeable in any way? Even if you don’t think I have been cruel to you, I have never been kind. Only civil, at the best of times.”

“And that has caused me much grief, I must admit. Not that I blame you for how you acted towards me. But I have yearned so much for you to treat me with some kindness…” Valjean still wasn’t looking at him. His voice had gone quite soft, and the grip on Javert’s wrists had tightened. 

Javert swallowed. “I had no idea you cared about me at all, let alone… this much. But now that I understand how good of a man you are, it hardly surprises me.”

Valjean looked back up, his brown eyes big and shiny. His lips parted as if he was going to speak, but he pressed them tightly together and looked down. A streak of moonlight slid down his cheek and got caught in his beard. A tear? 

“Valjean…?” Javert muttered. “Are you alright?”

“I have always wanted to- to hear you say something like that. To hear you say something kind about me. I never thought I would.” His voice was strained and tiny. Javert’s heart ached in a way he had never felt in his whole life… Or perhaps he had. Perhaps he had felt this way often when Valjean was involved. But it had never been so strong. The feeling made him want to drop to his knees in front of this man and clutch onto the fabric of his nightgown and never get up. 

“Oh, Valjean…” Javert realized he had nothing more to say. Well, he had much more to say, but he didn’t know what words existed to describe it. “Valjean…” That name, he realized, was as close as he could get to what he wanted to express. 

Valjean looked up at him, tears tracking streaks of light down his face. Javert felt his hands being clutched by the other man’s, hard enough that it could have hurt, perhaps, if it didn’t feel wonderful. “Javert, I love you.”

There. Those were the words Javert was searching for. Those were the words hidden in Valjean’s name all this time. That was the ache in his heart tonight, the feeling of his world shattering the night before, the reason he kept blushing at the least provocation. It was love. “I love you too.” Yes, the words felt so natural. So right. 

“Really?” Valjean asked, his voice scarcely sounding. More tears spilled from his eyes, but he was smiling and Javert felt that ache in his chest so strongly —  _ love.  _ Javert felt  _ love _ so strongly. 

“Yes,” Javert answered. “Yes, I most certainly do. I… Am not certain of much, anymore. Not since last night. But I am certain of that.” 

Valjean’s hands weren’t holding Javert’s after that, and for a split second, the man thought perhaps he had said something wrong— and he once again felt foolish for doubting Valjean, as the hands returned to cup his cheeks with more tenderness than Javert thought possible. The two men locked eyes, and it felt like Valjean was suddenly much closer than he was before, leaning in… 

And then, suddenly, _Valjean’s_ _lips_ were on his own, and all at once Javert understood why people wrote poems, why there were fairy tales and love songs and operas. He understood what had been missing in his fifty-two years, he understood what was to come as he lived out the rest of his life. He whimpered for love and yearning and need, and he kissed in return, arms desperately clutching at Valjean. The man’s body was so warm and so strong, his nightgown doing nothing to stop Javert from feeling the heat radiating from his skin. 

The night before, he had wanted to die, but now… Now he realized he had never truly been alive until now. 

They kissed for a very long time, or perhaps for no time at all, before they finally broke apart. The kiss had become sloppy, anyway— Valjean’s beard was proving to be in the way somewhat of the kiss, and the both of them did not have the technique to compensate for their overwhelmed state. No matter. The both of them had an unspoken agreement that they would soon try again. 

Valjean wiped the residual tears from his face and then settled his hands on Javert’s waist. Javert’s hands found themselves draped around the older man’s broad shoulders. It was as if they would soon dance, or perhaps that they had just been dancing and were now too tired to continue but not willing to let each other go just yet. 

Javert and Valjean stood there in silence for a long moment. The only sounds were those of crickets and other night creatures, and of the two men’s breathing. It was bliss. 

Javert suddenly thought of something to say as he studied Valjean. “You have freckles,” he pointed out, as if Valjean himself wouldn’t know. 

The other man smiled. “Yes, I do.”

“Not many of them, nor are they very obvious… But you do have freckles. I can’t believe I never noticed them before.”

Valjean shrugged; not enough, however, to dislodge Javert’s arms. “You’ve never been this close to me before.” 

“Regrettably, yes,” Javert said in return. He was almost startled to hear Valjean laugh at that. 

Still fascinated by his new discovery, Javert counted Valjean’s freckles. Some got lost in the lines and wrinkles of Valjean’s face, and he suspected there were more under Valjean’s beard. They were like little stars, he thought with amusement. He wondered if they dotted the rest of the man’s body… He blushed, embarrassed by where his train of thought was taking him. 

“What are you blushing about, Javert?” Valjean asked. 

“Uh… Nothing,” he lied. 

“‘Nothing’?” Valjean asked, tilting his head and smirking. 

“I simply cannot believe how handsome you are.” That wasn’t why he was blushing, but that was not a lie either. 

Valjean blushed as well, looking away a little. “Oh, please, Javert… I’m an old man.”

“Your age doesn’t make you any less handsome.”

The shorter man chuckled. “If you insist…”

Javert kissed the other’s cheek. He intended on making some smart comment, but Valjean soon pressed a kiss to Javert’s lips, and seeming smart ceased to matter. Everything ceased to matter.

Everything except Valjean and the night and the unlikely love the two of them had found and the way they were kissing and the feeling of the warmth of their bodies pressed together and the absolute bliss they felt. 

Truly, nothing mattered in that moment but the complete and utter bliss it was to love and be loved. 


End file.
